


The Kindness of Strangers

by Anonymous



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Rare Pairings, Vulnerability, liminal space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:07:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24563602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Two women sharing secrets far away from the rest of the world.
Relationships: Brienne of Tarth/Nymeria Sand, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 14
Kudos: 24
Collections: Anonymous





	The Kindness of Strangers

There was something unsettling about the Lady Nym.

A bastard, Brienne remembered, but called a lady nonetheless. And how could she not be? She was tall and elegant, dressed in silk even while travelling, well-mannered and charming to the serving girls. There was nothing about her lovely face and pretty smiles that would be out of place in any castle.

But she travelled alone with the kind of easy confidence of someone that knew no one could touch her, even though this war had already killed kings in the safety of their own halls and the mothers of now penniless orphans and her own father.

But she didn’t flinch from the vicious scars marring Brienne’s cheek as if they barely even registered as something out of the norm.

But her dark, languid eyes sometimes sharpened into something dangerous, and her wine-red lips quirked into the hint of an expression that Brienne couldn’t read.

In the dim light, Nymeria Sand’s beauty was _dangerous._ She was long limbed and willow slim, a young woman with the dignified bearing of a dowager a decade older, and when the candlelight cast long shadows across her face and shone against her eyes, Brienne couldn’t look away. Jaime had long since stomped up the stairs to his and Pod’s room, scowling heavily at the weight of Nymeria’s cool, judgement-laden stare, and even the innkeeper had gone off to bed, leaving them with a flagon of wine that had since sat untouched, but Brienne remained, pinned in place under the older woman’s scrutiny.

“I’ve heard stories about you,” Lady Nymeria said at last. “The Maid of Tarth.”

Her voice was low and melodic, barely above a whisper, only just audible, even in the silent night. Brienne swallowed hard and nodded.

“Yes.”

“Brienne the Blue of the Rainbow Guard. Catelyn Stark’s sworn sword. Sansa Stark’s would be protector,” the Dornishwoman mused. “The Kingslayer’s Whore.”

Brienne flinched even though the words had no bite, a drawl more than anything. Lady Nymeria didn’t miss it – her eyes went sharp and Brienne tensed in anticipation.

“You love him,” the lady said. Brienne could only press her lips together and look away.

She wanted to say _no, no, of course I don’t,_ but that would be a lie.

She wanted to say, _yes, I do,_ bold as brass, but that would need bravery she didn’t have to admit the sort of thing she never had.

She wanted to say, _what does it matter when I’m nothing to him and never will be,_ but it was silly to ask such a thing of a woman that knew neither her nor him, and more maudlin than she could bear.

So she said nothing at all, and after a long moment of silence, Lady Nymeria said, “He is unworthy of you.”

Brienne’s head snapped back up. She expected a sneer, but Nymeria’s face was anything but mocking. Her cheeks were flushed – from the wine, Brienne, thought, until she remembered Nymeria had at least twice turned down more, might have even had only a single glass over the entire night – and her viper eyes were suspiciously shiny.

“You’re young,” she said, even though she couldn’t have possibly been that much older. “You could go home. Stay out of all of this. But instead, you fought for a murderer’s murderous brother. Then for an accomplice. And now, you wander the countryside carrying a Lannister sword, gifted to you by a traitor you’d die for, for the sake of a girl you’ve never met. For a woman who prides honour, you do so often find yourself making strange allies.”

“Aerys –” Brienne started to say, and she didn’t know how she was going to end her sentence – to defend the righteousness of Robert’s Rebellion? Defend Lady Catelyn who’d wed to seal the alliance that ended a dynasty? Defend Ser Jaime who’d opened the Mad King’s throat?

She didn’t have to decide. Nymeria cut her off.

“What do I care about Aerys?” she snapped. “Yes, yes, Aerys was mad, we all know that. But Elia wasn’t. Her children weren’t. And yet…instead of protecting them, as he’d sworn to do, he killed a man who would soon be dead anyway. When my father’s sister was being raped and murdered, he was waiting for his own father to finishing sacking the city.”

Brienne still couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

What was it about her that prompted so many people to confess their deepest griefs and oldest sins?

“I was ten,” Nymeria said. “During the rebellion. I still remember the howl my father made when he heard word of his sister. I had never met the little prince, but the princess…Elia brought her to Sunspear once. Her name was Rhaenys. Such a pretty little girl she was. Elia had been ill, you see, after Rhaenys’s birth, and her dragon prince thought that the Dornish sun would do her good. So she came home, just for a while, with her new family. Her daughter had just started to smile. And Elia…she used to sing as she worked, pouring over trade agreements. She’d never harmed anyone. But when she was raped and murdered, no one demanded justice for her. Not even the people that claimed to value her. When the time came to prove it, they did nothing. The Kingslayer foremost among them.”

Brienne didn’t know what to say.

Lady Catelyn had valued her more than Renly ever had. But Ser Jaime had returned to Harrenhal for her, had put himself in between her and a bear. He had gifted her a Valyrian steel sword and followed her when he knew she was lying to him. _Kingslayer. Oathbreaker._

“He’s not –” she started to say, and Nymeria didn’t cut her off this time. But Brienne didn’t have the words. So she stopped talking and let the silence stretch out once more, longer. This time, too, it was Nymeria that broke it.

“Do you use knives?” she asked. One had appeared in her hand, as if out of nowhere, and Brienne started. How could she have not noticed that? She had enough presence of mind to shake her head. Nymeria’s eyebrows drew together as she looked down at the knife she held. “I suppose you have your own weapons. But I’ve oft wondered if Elia would be alive today had she wielded a knife. Perhaps. Perhaps not. She certainly would had she been home in Dorne.”

“She shouldn’t have had to wield anything,” Brienne said. “She had knights to protect her.”

Nymeria scoffed. “And yet those knights were useless.”

Sansa Stark was not home, either. Sansa Stark wielded no weapon. Sansa Stark had no knight.

“Seventeen years,” Nymeria continued. “And it took my father to deliver the first measure of justice. No lord, no knights. Just a prince avenging his sister.”

If she believed that, how could she not understand why Brienne kept looking? How could she not understand why Brienne had to find her lady’s lost daughter, a maiden no one had protected? Brienne asked just that, and Nym’s dark eyes flashed.

“I’m not _talking_ about Sansa Stark,” the Dornishwoman said. “I’m talking about _you_.”

Brienne started. “What…”

“ _Your_ father yet lives,” Nymeria said shortly. “Mine cared more for the memory of his dead sister than he ever did for me.”

A flick of her wrist, and the knife in her hand embedded itself in the wall. Brienne made a noise of protest. Nym waved it off as if batting away a fly.

“I’ll leave some more coin when I retire,” she said, brittle and biting. She got up and crossed the room to retrieve the blade. When she turned back to Brienne, she was shrouded in shadows. “Worry not.”

She sat back down, closer to Brienne this time, and continued. “Vengeance is all we have, my sisters and I. But you could go home, to your living father, to your Sapphire Isle, and _live_. Waste not the time you have on pointless quests. You don’t have anyone to avenge.”

 _Lady Catelyn. King Renly,_ Brienne thought, and she said, “Don’t I?”

Brienne of Tarth was not a woman people comforted. Nymeria Sand was not a woman that comforted. But Nym reached out to cradle Brienne’s chin and ran elegant fingers over the ruined cheek, a touch so unexpectedly gentle that a lump formed in Brienne’s throat and she had to fight to breathe around it.

“I have a sister about your age,” she said. “Sarella. She spends most of her time away from home, too, now. The difference is that she does it for herself. Not because she has any responsibility to give her life for someone else’s children. Rhaenys would have been your age, too, had there been anyone able to protect her. She had no choice in what happened. You do. Choose yourself.”

Brienne’s throat ached. She managed to get out another sentence: “Why are you telling me this?”

Nym just shook her head.

“You don’t owe them anything,” she said, low and fierce, and her hand tightened just a little over Brienne’s jaw. “You can be sure they wouldn’t do the same for you.”

Brienne could only stare. Why did she even care, this strange woman from a world away? What could have even brought them to the same place? Surely the Lady Nym ought to be headed in the opposite direction, to King’s Landing and the council seat awaiting her?

But here she was, with Brienne, long after sundown in this lonely Riverlands inn, murmuring what felt like secrets as if she didn’t care who knew.

“There’s nothing else for me to do,” Brienne said, and apparently it was _her_ turn for a confession. “My father can still wed again, and have an heir he can be proud of. I can never be that.”

What felt like an eternity ago, she’d shared what was then the entire tale with the Elder Brother. Now came the rest, to the Dornishwoman with piercing eyes – another inn miles away, Pod and Hyle and the Brotherhood Without Banners, the dead woman walking and a broken oath, _Jaime_.

“All I can do now is try to be better,” she said. “Maybe…maybe if I save Sansa, I can have finally done some good.”

At long last, Nym let her hand drop away from Brienne’s cheek.

“You’ve done plenty already,” she said, and now the fierceness was gone from her voice, the silkiness, too. Stripped of those small pretensions, the prince’s daughter just sounded tired. “No shade has any claim to your fealty. And there _is_ still a great deal else you can do.”

“Like what?” Brienne asked. It came out far more plaintive than she would have hoped, but when Nym considered her for a long moment, it somehow didn’t feel mocking.

“Well,” she said at last. “You’re younger than I normally go for, but…”

Nym kissed her.

Brienne’s eyes widened in surprise. Owen Inchfield had once seized her for a kiss, but this was nothing like that at all – there was no force behind Nymeria’s movements. Her lips were soft and warm and shockingly gentle, so much so that Brienne didn’t even think to push her away until she’d already withdrawn. The two of them remained there, so close together, until Brienne could finally think clearly enough to ask, “Why did you do that?”

The question came out breathy, a girl’s voice and a girl’s question. A distant part of Brienne wondered if she should not feel embarrassed by it. But Nym didn’t laugh.

“You could go home,” the woman said again. “Find someone warm to live for rather than a corpse to follow into the grave. Believe me, my lady, I’d sooner be given a kiss and a warm bed than a quest and a crypt. I suspect you might feel the same.”

Brienne had considered slinking back home before, and if it were at all possible, the thought of Evenfall was even more tempting now. But she shook her head.

“I have to find Sansa,” she said. “Just like you have to go to King’s Landing.”

Nym sighed, long and deep. “Then I wish you luck, Lady Brienne. Perhaps after you succeed, you’ll come to Sunspear. My sisters would rather like to meet you, I expect, and you might find Dorne to your liking.”

“I would like that,” Brienne said, even as the doubt rose in her chest. Nym seemed to notice – she laughed softly, and for a second, she reminded Brienne of Jaime.

“No need to sound so afraid,” she teased. “You don’t know much about Dorne, do you. I can assure you, you’ll enjoy it.”

For the first time since before Shagwell smashed in Nimble Dick’s face, Brienne managed a smile. Nym smiled back. She reached for the flagon of wine and poured them each a cup.

“May we both find what we’re looking for,” she said, raising hers. Brienne drank to that, and added, “And may we both live to tell the tale.”

**Author's Note:**

> ...I have a lot of feelings, okay? Let me know what you think!


End file.
